


The Courage to Heal [Alternate Title:Out of Love]

by ThatTrashyBitch



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Verbal Abuse, i don’t know how to tag, it’s been a hot minute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatTrashyBitch/pseuds/ThatTrashyBitch
Summary: He noticed it in the way his body now moved, how when he was hunched over, his spine stuck out at piercing angles through his shirts. How when he looked closely on Stan’s wrists, he found discolouration, as if a strong hand had aggressively grabbed him on multiple occasions. How when he rested his head on Stan’s lap, he felt his sharp pelvis, like a knife, at the back of his head.The high school AU where Stanley is getting abused by his boyfriend so the Losers make a plan to help himDISCONTINUED
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Stanley Uris & Everyone, Stanley Uris/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 109





	1. Observations

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I finally released the chapter. I really wanted to put it out there before I got too busy with all my school work, so I’m sorry that it’s not edited. I hope you enjoy it regardless though. (:

Bill, as the circumstance ordinarily occurred, was the first to notice Stanley’s uncharacteristic behaviour. That in itself was a difficult task to successfully achieve, not because he lacked the ability one must maintain to be able to analyze an individual of Stanley’s nature. No, but because of Stan’s overly complicated, widely ranged personality spectrum, each level containing numerous varieties of a plethoric class, all coming together to create every individualistic strand that became a different part of Stanley Uris. 

Regardless of the fact, Bill had realized faster than any of the members in the ‘Losers’ when something was different with Stanley. Bill hypothesized that the reasoning behind it in actuality was, he was their leader, constantly in tune with each individual group members’ needs. At least, it was what he found to be the most recent explanation explanation. 

He had known Stanley his entire life, they were practically family. There had always been a part of Bill that knew deep down that Stan completed him. Bill was the puzzle and Stanley was the missing piece, the one that completed the masterpiece. Stanley was so intelligent, he was self preserving and poised, he managed to carry himself gracefully elegant, like a bird in flight, even in a town full of small minded commoners. Stanley was level headed and independent, while Bill thought of himself to be more of an impulsive individual, constantly lacking the self control, easily blinded by his emotions and pride , causing an error in his ways, and making him to act impulsively. Yet, regarding these traits they both individually inhabited, their differences, and similarities combined made their friendship even stronger. It created a special bond between the two of them. Their friendship meant everything to him, that went for all the losers, but Stanley in particular would always have a designated spot in his heart. They were constantly there for each other, both incredibly supportive of the other, he’d do anything to make Stan happy for just a moment. Just to see his infectious, beautiful dimpled smile that made the whole world stop, or at least, it made Bill’s world stop. And that was more than enough for him.

His second conclusion; he was just that good of a best friend, plus he had been hopelessly in love with Stanley for as long as he could remember, but not being able to share this revelation for the dilemma of, Stanley already had a boyfriend. From the looks of his boyfriend, he would never downgrade to a guy like Bill. Tristan was tall, athletic, popular, had a dimpled smile almost as adorable as Stanley’s, smooth vocal patterns, and was openly bisexual. He had confidence Bill could only dream of obtaining, but he wasn’t going to act immaturely and become jealous, or at all threatened by a man that he didn’t even personally know well. Stanley was completely unaware of Bill’s endearment towards him, even with the displays of affection he constantly directed at him, and how he took interest in things he knew Stanley liked, or the benignity he constantly demonstrated. Bill always noticed his changed behaviour in the little things; How his skin seemed to incessantly glow a radiant gold lately from his new face wash, and how Stan’s already moody personality took a bigger turn for the worst, most likely the result of his family’s hostile and overbearing behaviour. He was always observant enough to notice when there was something wrong- or off with Stanley’s behaviour; when he was being a little too snappy to be normal, or when he was a little too quiet to be considered unconcerning, whatever it was, Bill always noticed it. Bill knee he was probably going to act irrationally and do something hasty like investigate, even though he knew it wasn’t his responsibility to. That wasn’t his job. The position of ‘boyfriend’ had already been filled, and Stan wasn’t taking any more applicants. Bill knew had to just be the bigger person admit defeat, to let things be, but in all honesty, he really didn’t want to.

-

Stanley was way too small. That was the first thing Richie noticed was different with him. He wasn’t stating the fact by way of insult, more of by a vague observation he made to himself when his glasses clad eyes skimmed over him from time to time. He was only voicing that Stan had managed to slowly transition from averagely skinny to unhealthy gaunt without anyone’s knowledge. He noticed it in the way his body now moved, how when he was hunched over, his spine stuck out at piercing angles through his shirts. How when he looked closely on Stan’s wrists, he found discolouration, as if a strong set of hands had aggressively grabbed him on multiple occasions. How when he rested his head on Stan’s lap, he felt his sharp pelvis, like a knife, at the back of his head. But Stanley has always trusted the Losers, right? As much of a stubbornly independent prick he was, they were all friends, he told them everything, they shared everything with each other. There were no secrets in their relationship, he would speak out and tell them if anything was seriously wrong. right?

-

Eddie was the one next in the group to notice something new about Stanley. Eddie had known Stanley for, basically his entire life, growing up together, going to the same school , sharing similarities such as their germaphobic traits and both their compulsive actions and all, but never before had he witnessed Stanley exhibit such unusual behaviour. They were spending their summer afternoons how they typically did, at the quarry, deciding it was the most effective way to beat the July heat.

“That sucked, four out of ten!” Beverly bellowed loudly, directing her statement towards Richie, who’s head popped up suddenly from the tinted water.  
“Are you kidding me? That was a solid seven!”  
He yelled back in response, bobbing in the water and combing his water turned stringy hair from his eyes. They had been playfully arguing and bickering back and forth like this for hours, rating each other’s jumps and dives from the cliff’s edge while the others attempted to avoid the splash zone.

Eddie had been seated beside Stanley at the cliff’s border, both completely content to sit in companionable silence and watch their friends from the sidelines. Bill, Ben, and Mike had left the scene a few hours prior. Eddie had presumed they had gone back to Bill’s house to stock up on more drinks, but as the day went on, growing progressively hotter, he gave up on any hope of them returning with any more refreshing drinks any time soon.

The sun had been burning down unforgivingly hot down Eddie’s neck and back, causing another thin layer of sweat to configure on his already already perspiring body. Even with his shirt off, and with his shortest pair of red shorts on, he could still feel new constellations of freckles being created on his tanned skin. Even after slathering layer upon layer of sunscreen on, he still felt the tender stinging sensation of a forming sunburn.

“I think I’m gonna go for a swim too,” he eyed the water, “wanna come?” Eddie asked nonchalantly, standing up. Stanley looked startled by the sudden confrontation, probably caught up in his own thoughts Eddie presumed. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly taking more interest in the ground than to in Eddie’s unwavering gaze. Sitting awkward and tense, he answered back.

“I’m actually not that hot so,” he shrugged, trailing off, gaze steadily fixated on the dirt he was kicking up, still ensuring it didn’t scuff his shoes. “I’ll just watch and wait for Bill, Mike, and Ben to get back over here.”  
He mumbled, squinting up to Eddie’s gaze finally.

Eddie stared at him for a long moment. Really stared at him. Unlike everyone, who arrived dressed in skimpy summer ensembles, consisting of t-shirts, and bikinis, and flip flops, and shorts, Stan had arrived dressed in a baggy black hoodie, and a tight pair of dark blue skinny jeans, something he had never been seen wearing. Clothes so casual, the Losers hadn’t even known he owned something so laid back in his closet. No one had said anything, choosing to disregard Stan’s uncharacteristic sense of fashion. Eddie had found it especially odd because he could see a sheen of sweat settled on the surface of Stanley’s tanning skin, he didn’t want to imagine what it was like for him underneath the hoodie, probably three times the sweltering intensity Eddie felt.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should take off your hoodie, don’t want you getting heat stroke or something like that.” Eddie said concerned, reaching out to touch Stan’s forehead in effort to convince him, feeling and sounding too much like a protective mother.

Stan flinched back, his entire body jerking back in vain attempt to avoid the incoming hand. Eddie instantly recoiled, retracting his hand quickly, as if he had been badly burned. It had felt like he had been burned. Stanley Uris, one of his best friends, whom he treasured trusted with his life, his affiliated brother, was suddenly afraid of him? He had so little trust in him that he genuinely believed that he would ever hurt him? That he would ever lay a hand on him with the intention of causing pain? The thought left a hollow aching in his chest and a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I-I was only- I wasn’t-“ Eddie nervously stuttered out, feeling as if all the air had been sucked away from him. He met Stanley’s gaze, he was holding a pained expression, he opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly unsure of how to address what had occurred.

Eddie stood there akwardly, hands tucked underneath his armpits, too afraid to make any sort of movement, in fear of spooking Stanley a second time. His eyes were fixated on the ground, just as Stan’s once were, awaiting some sort, any sort, of explanation.

“You just surprised me, that’s all.” Stanley spoke finally. Eddie looked up at him, still curled in on himself, shooting Stan an unconvinced look. A look that he hoped was able accurately conveyed the deep level of hurt he felt.  
‘Like that bullshit was supposed to suffice as an explanation.’ Eddie thought.

“You’re lying.” He mumbled, more to himself than Stanley. He felt like a child, why was he suddenly walking on eggshells and making up excuses? Was it because he believed that Eddie was too fragile to handle the truth? Was it because he believed Eddie wasn’t trustworthy enough? Eddie concluded that his best friend didn’t trust him. It was a difficult truth to swallow.

Stanley didn’t at all deny the obvious lie. “It’s getting late, I should go, Tristan’s probably wondering where I am.” He deflected.  
There he went again, producing another obvious lie. 

Eddie stared blankly back at him. He was sure Tristan wouldn’t mind if he was a few hours late. This was so unusual for Stanley. Their relationship was built on a firm foundation on trust, enforced by the similarities they shared. It felt as though once the words left Stan’s mouth, the foundation began to crumble. Stanley’s most admirable trait, in Eddie’s opinion, had always been his brutal honesty. The way he truthfully spoke his mind, yet still managing to speak it in a considerate and composed manner, and the way he was able to constantly provide a reality check whenever one of the losers needed clarity or guidance. He was the glue that held them all together, always staying put together, himself. Eddie admired the way he never failed or hesitated to call one of them out if when they were being shitty. It was was unnatural to see him this way, lying straight to Eddie’s face about his feelings. Even though he was usually one to keep things bottled up inside when he believed his problems were and inconvenience to others, he had never lied so obviously before, usually choosing lying by omission . The tower was about to topple, leaning and off balance, bound to come crashing down soon if his unusual behaviour didn’t stop.

Stanley waited there for a moment, waiting for Eddie to do something, anything. For Eddie to assure him it was going to be okay, for Eddie to ask if he was really okay, for Eddie to just hold him for a while. They both looked at each other, both trying to silently prompt the other to say something, then finally, with a small huff, Stanley got up and left, pulling from the curb and pedalling away quickly on his outdated bike, leaving Eddie, and the rest of his friends behind.

-

From that unfaithful encounter at the quarry, Stan began avoiding the losers like the fucking plague. They each had made their own attempts to catch him throughout the summer, but he was successful in avoiding them all, always conveniently not being home whenever they visited, and things unfortunately didn’t change when school started up again. All the losers had made several attempts, multiple times, at the least have a conversation with him in the hallways at school, but he seemed hellbent on averting from all of them, and when Stan put his mind to something, he was eight out of ten times successful. Stan wasn’t considered a man of mystery by anyone’s standards, he usually known as the predictable one in the group, believing in structure and order, everything meticulously planned out, so when he started avoiding the losers, it threw everyone off. Stanley Uris actually doing something out of his comfort zone. 

He slowly started drifting away from his friends, first it started with him avoiding their table during certain lunch periods throughout the week, instead choosing to sit with Tristan at the jocks’ table, then the situation escalated to him not bothering to show up at all, instead choosing to completely ignore their usual table, and immediately sitting with his boyfriend and his obnoxious friends . His and the losers’ relationship especially began to putrescence when he began avidly avoiding all of them out of lunch times; changing directions if he saw any of them approaching in the halls, using different hallway routes to get to class, just so he wouldn’t have to pass by them, changing his seat in every class, instead choosing to sit by his boyfriend, or whichever one of his airhead friends, ignoring every call and text they sent to him, or simply just picking up his pace when he passed by any of them. It was far from normal, but there was something that seemed especially wrong about the whole ordeal.

-

It was a Thursday afternoon when Beverly finally caught Stan alone at his locker. Stanley had been having a fairly decent day before the encounter, he had aced his algebra final, he hadn’t been targeted by any of his regular tormentors ever since he’d started dating Tristan, and his eighteenth birthday was coming up, meaning finally had an excuse to ask for a car. He’d been in a cheerful mood. Well, as cheerful as it ever really got for Stan. He was standing with his face turned to his open locker, head shoved inside and sorting through his organized materials, searching for his textbook. Beverly, having just exited from the girls bathroom, spotted the perfect opportunity and made her move, wasting no time to confront Stanley.

“Hey.” Stan didn’t mean to jump at the voice, but it was just his body’s natural reflex to anything it deemed potentially dangerous as of recently. He whacked his head on the inside of his locker, the impact being only slightly lessened by his thick head of curls. Quickly collecting himself, he turned to face the familiar voice.  
“Hi.” He responded, as if he hadn’t just most likely concussed himself. “What’s up?”

Beverly furrowed her tidily Kempt eyebrows, failing to understand how Stanley managed to have the nerve to act so nonchalantly after ghosting all his friends for weeks.  
“What’s up? What the fuck do you mean ‘what’s up?’ You don’t get to act all casual, like you haven’t been a selfish and shitty friend lately.” Stanley could tell from Beverly’s expression that she was only getting warmed up, prepared for a heated argument. He quickly glanced around, frantically looking for the exits, or any sort of excuse to get himself out of the situation, because where one loser was, the others were sure to follow, and if they came, Tristan was sure to appear too.

Beverly seemed to get even more aggravated when she realized Stanley wasn’t going answer her.  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She fumed, hands balled at her sides, “You need to start talking right now, or else I’m going to do something I’m gonna regret.” She spoke with her teeth clenched.

Stanley felt trapped, he knew that she would never hurt him, but then again, he had thought the same thing about Tristan when he first met him. It was okay though, he only ever got punished when he wasn’t being a good boyfriend. He only did it out of love. Or at least, that’s what Tristan had told him.

He was suddenly pulled out of his deep train of thought when he felt a sharp stinging sensation across his left cheek. She had slapped him. Slapped. He had actually been slapped by his friend. It all happened too fast, his brain was working too slow. This was no different from the punishments he usually received from Tristan though, so why did it feel twice as painful? It was no different from when Tristan yelled at him for being useless, from when he punished him out of love. Everything he ever did to him was out of love. But why did it hurt so much more coming from Bev? It wasn’t even physical hurt, it was more emotional distress than anything else. 

Stan’s eyes lazily looked up to meet remorseful blue eyes. He was the first to look away, quickly forgetting about his missing textbook and leaving Bev behind at his locker, not uttering a word to her as he left. And for once since being with Tristan, He wasn’t so sure if he had been hit out of love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... so as you can tell I’ve been gone for a while. I literally have no excuse other than being a lazy asshole. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I’m truly sorry for disappointing you guys.

When Stanley first began dating Tristan, everything was ideal. They had been in what he now recognized to be, ‘the honeymoon faze’, when everything was sublime, and they were both flawless in each other’s eyes. The two of them had first met at the movie theatre on a Saturday evening, during Tristan’s evening shift. The day the losers had decided ti designate for their celebratory freedom from the school year movie night, by going out together. 

Back then, everything was adequate in life Stanley’s. Back then, Stan was still perfectly content with how things were occurring, he still had purpose, and direction in his life. At the time, he still got good grades, and still hung out with his inseparably tightly knit group of friends on an almost daily basis. He still strived to be the best that he could be . Back then, he hadn’t been aware how much of a jumbled mess his life would soon become, just from making the minuscule decision of talking to the theatre worker that night. Sometimes, as Stan would lay in bed at night, usually tightly held in Tristan’s embrace, or sometimes, mere moments after he would conclude his yelling, or moments when Tristan would be kissing his salty tear struck and reddened face, mere moments after he would hit Stanley, or even at times when Stanley’s gaze would stay too long on a waiter when ordering his own food, and Tristan’s deathly grip would tighten on his wrist and create crescent indents in his skin from his sharp nails, Stanley would ponder, what would’ve happened if he hadn’t gone up to the him? Would he still be in his current god forsaken situation? Would he still be stuck in his broken relationship? Would he still have a rocky and broken his kinship within his friend group? Would he still have broken his relationship with his family? Or would things be better? Just a tiny bit more okay? It wasn’t at Tristan’s fault though, Stanley knew this. It was his own fault for provoking him on nights where he knew he had gone through a difficult day. It was his fault for not texting him back soon enough when he was out late with his friends, back when he was still allowed to associate with them. It was his own fault for being compulsive and controlling and not having more self control over his OCD. It was his own fault for deliberately trying to fraternize with Bill behind his protective boyfriend’s back, knowing that Tristan made his distaste towards the former obvious, and expressed his anger at the thought of the two of them associating together and alone multiple times. It was his own fault for being so irritating and bland that he managed to drive his own caring boyfriend to the point of physically and verbally hurting him. It wasn’t like he was always like this, anyway. 

Though Tristan could be, what can only be described as, quite volatile on certain days, the two of them still had their good moments. Tristan could still cause Stan’s heart skip a few beats from simple act of smiling down at him while he wrapped Stanley tightly in his warm embrace. He would still buy the most thoughtful gifts, and memories every anniversary they had. Most importantly, he would still fuck Stan so well and hard into the sheets that he would be limping for days. Deep down underneath all the anger and annoyance and jealousy, Tristan had a kind heart. Stanley had seen it on multiple occasions, though as of recently, the appearance of that kindhearted side of him was becoming more and more of a rarity. All of it didn’t matter anyway, no matter how many nights Stanley would silently cry himself to sleep, trying to muffle his sobs in his pillow. or go to bed with his stomach aching from hunger pains, since his boyfriend’s constant diet regulations  
and management forbade him from gaining too much weight, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave. He knew he was nothing without Tristan, and Tristan made it clear that he was unlovable by anyone else. So he stayed.

-

Derry, Maine, 1994 

The losers all clamoured into the near empty movie theatre, a miscellaneous group, filled with and radiating myriad amounts of boisterous and exited energy. They were one of the last groups there, making it just in time for the last few movies of the night. They were finally going through with the movie night they had been planning for months, often being cancelled because of member being unable to make it, or someone becoming sick, but finally, the stars seemed to align, and the seven schedules synched up perfectly. Together again, the inseparable septet of teenagers chatted rambunctious loudly amongst themselves, as Bill and Mike went off to purchase tickets, and Richie and Stanley went to order snacks for the group. Everyone thankfully ignoring Richie’s suggestion of just sneaking hotdogs in his underwear, for the sake of saving a few dollars. 

Stanley allowed his ear to be talked off as he halfheartedly listed to Richie and walked up to the counter alongside him. All the while creating a palilalia, for the sake of etching all seven orders into his brain. Richie however, exhibited no level of concern whatsoever towards the reason he cane along with Stanley, mindlessly continuing his purposeless spiel, nearly jumbling up the mantra Stan had been repeating quietly under his breath.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Richie asked as they arrived to the grimy sea foam green coloured counter, awaiting a worker to come up and take their order. Richie droned on as Stan desperately bit back a snarky responses, only for the sake of ordering the right meals for everyone.

“I don’t understand why they can’t just make some sort of website, that I can watch my porn on, because, I’m gonna be frank with ya Staniel- “

“Hi, what can I get’cha?” The concessions worker asked cheerily, fixing his black visor hat as he made his way to the counter, and unknowingly saving Stan from hearing another earful from Richie, about the “shameful lack of porn in the town.”

As Stanley glanced up, he was met with the most piercingly vivid blue eyes he had ever laid his eyes upon. The boy’s eyes shone kindly, a mischievous, an almost dangerous glint dancing behind the initial vibrant blue. They looked like two deep pools, each lightly speckled with accents of deep green. Stanley wanted to jump in and be encased and completely enveloped by the warmth in his eyes, and see what hidden beyond the surface. He had an exuberant dimpled smile plastered onto his face, the kind of smile that you can tell is so genuine, that the person’s eyes crinkle up at the corners, one that’s so infectious, you couldn’t help but smile back. The boy was tall, probably a little over six feet, just barely beating Bill’s height and just under Richie’s lofty six feet, three inches. Unlike Richie’s slender, bordering gaunt frame, the person in front of Stan was more filled out, his toned arms alone being the deciding factor in Stanley’s mind that he had to have worked out regularly. His hair chestnut was sort of curly, looking less like Richie’s messy set of knots atop his head, but a little closer to Eddie’s loose curls that bordered waves, on the days when he didn’t add any product, but still not quite looking like Stan’s tightly neat and coiled curls. He hadn’t ever seen the boy around town before, and he knew that he would noticed someone as good looking as him, so Stan assumes he was new to Derry. He crossed his fingers, hoping that he go to Derry High.

“Uh, hi.” Stanley answered back dumbly, almost one hundred percent certain that his moth was slightly agape. Every bit of information about his friends’ orders his mind had once held, flew out of his brain. causing Richie to let out an obnoxiously not-so-subtle snort. 

Regardless, the fact didn’t matter to him in the slightest. He felt frozen under the steady gaze and warm smile, paralyzed in the best way. The way the bright green speckled pools fixated on his, when he looked at Stan, everything felt right. 

-

This felt wrong. Everything about the whole ordeal felt wrong. The way his cold and callused hands slid roughly down Stan’s body, leaving a feeling of violation in their wake, the way he felt his hot breath felt, coming out in short pants against the sensitive skin of his neck, but no matter how wrong it felt, Stan couldn’t help but keen in pleasure as Tristan’s hand tightened momentarily around his hardened cock, causing him to buck wildly into his tightened fist and throw his head back, hitting against the wood if Tristan’s bed frame. His eyes shut tightly and his mouth slightly agape as a shock of shivers surged through his body. Tristan slowly ground his own raging hard on against Stan’s leg from where he was positioned on top of him. Stan began planting soft bites along his sharp jawline through his dazed state.

Tristan released a low moan in his ear and hid his face back into the crook of Stan’s neck , steadily and lazily working his left hand at a leisurely pace underneath the fabric of Stanley’s boxers. His right hand slowly sliding down from where his thumb had previously been fervently rubbing at the bud of Stanley’s nipple, travelling farther down Stan’s chest, and lifting up his shirt.

Tristan let out a small grunt, mouth still glued against Stanley’s ear.  
“You’re getting fat.” Somehow still sounding kind calm, he murmured lowly into his ear, now slowing down the already languid pace of his hand inside Stanley’s boxers, and pausing his right hand and gripping tightly at fleshier area on Stanley’s side, bordering a painful grip.

His hold tightened on the scintilla amount of pudge. Stan let out a high pitched whine as Tristan’s still hand momentarily sped up and then stopped completely, the mix pleasure and pain causing the noise to leave his mouth, sill in an ajar state, but the mood was ruined. “You been eating too much again?” 

Though phrased like one, he spoke with such an accusatory tone, that Stan knew it wasn’t meant as a question.

His Eyes shut tightly, regretfully thinking back to the previous night. 

-

It wasn’t necessarily his fault per say. Being the son of the town’s only Rabbi, meant he was constantly going out with his parents to visit with and eat dinners with the synagogue’s patrons. It wasn’t exactly something he could just weasel out of, though he had attempted to do so on multiple occasions. And he couldn’t just sit there and just push his food around his plate, because knowing the Ablemans, they would catch on quickly, and make some sort of comment about his lack of appetite, and make a big deal out of the whole situation, and he would have to sit through and listen to an earful from his parents for “rude behaviour” on their way home, and most likely for the next few weeks. So he made the unwise decision of taking a tentative bite of the food in front of him, focusing solely on finishing his measly plate and then feigning being full. However, that plan quickly went to complete shit after he took his first bite. The Kneidlachs’ flavours dancing beautifully on his tongue, begging for him to take another bite, the artful array of dishes on his plate, ranging from savoury to sweet sat there invitingly, all begging to be put inside his mouth . He hadn’t meant to, but he had scarfed down his food, all a blurred moment of plate to mouth motion repeated. 

He had long tuned out the sound of the adults talking, his main focus trying (and failing) not to eye the food in front of him and make it obvious he wanted seconds. He had clearly failed when he looked up to find a large square of Noodle Krugel piled into his plate. He looked up to see Mrs.Ableman, kindly smiling back at him. He glanced down at the plate again, suddenly aware of the sensation of his khakis pinched tightly around his belly. Then he glanced at Mrs.Ableman, who was still kindly waiting for him to try her food. Slowly, he lifted his fork up to his mouth, barely biting back a moan at the flavour that was released into his mouth. 

-

That night he had eaten thee platefuls, in addition to a heaping helping dessert. By the end of the evening, he was painfully aware of how tight his pants felt over his protruding stomach. But he was content, unthinking of the consequences of his actions. It was the first real meal he had eaten in months since being with Tristan and his “dietary regulations.” He was unashamedly happy and enjoying his evening. Now though, he wasn’t so sure eating so much had been a smart idea.

“Answer me,” Tristan spoke again, voice low, but the inpatient seeping into his vo clear from the way he growled as he spoke. “I asked you a question Stanley.”

Stan knew he was fucked when Tristan addressed him as “Stanley”, instead of the usual pet names they called each other. Nonetheless, he opened his eyes, maintaining steady eye contact with his boyfriend, visibly swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Yeah.” He whispered, as Tristan gently ran a hand back and forth over his, admittedly, portly stomach. Meant to be a soothing gesture for most, but doing nothing but cause a feeling of anxiety and dread to settle over him.

“You know what that means right? You broke my biggest rule.” He spoke sickly sweet, lifting a hand to softly caress Stanley’s jaw and gently rubbed his thumb into his cheek. 

Knowing what was inevitably destined for his future, Stan still couldn’t couldn’t help but swoon at the gesture, and melt into the soft touch.

-

The next day, Stanley arrived at school sporting a ripe looking black eye and a tender bruised cheek bone, both concealed poorly by his mother’s low quality makeup that she never actually used. When he had looked at his appearance in the mirror that morning, he had cursed his lack of artistic ability and talent when it came to makeup . A quiet voice in the back of his mind had told him to ask Beverly, since she was basically his only friend, well, ex-friend, he knew who was capable of doing things like operating scissors without stabbing herself (and or others in her vicinity.) She also and drew and painted remarkable pictures of people and the things she observed around herself, so he guessed that she of all people, had to be good at putting on makeup. Making her the most qualified person to be classified as the only guru Stanley knew. He quickly redacted the thought when he remembered he wasn’t permitted to speak to any of the losers unless he was under Tristan’s supervision. If Tristan saw him walking around school, speaking to one of them, he would be in so much trouble.

The marks underneath his shirt didn’t matter to him, as long as nobody touched or embraced him, especially on one of the tender bruises, or looked underneath his thick brown sweater. 

He walked swiftly to his locker, pointedly ignoring the glares of the losers cast in his direction as he passed them. Attempting to hold back the tears stinging at his eyes, he continued his trek, tired, worn out,and feeling alone.


End file.
